


Wide Wild Deep

by Ripki



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brothers, Complicated Relationships, During Movie, First Meetings, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Movie, Pre-Slash, Young Arthur Curry, Young Orm Marius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripki/pseuds/Ripki
Summary: I return to youlike a restless tide to a lonely shorewhere the waters beat against the rocksand seabirds cry out in the wind.Arthur and Orm first meet as children - how will this affect them, when years later they meet as men?





	1. The Lonely Shore

\--

 _I return to you_  
_like a restless tide to a lonely shore_  
_where the waters beat against the rocks_  
_and seabirds cry out in the wind._

\--

“This is your half-brother, Prince Orm,” Vulko said, and Arthur stared at the boy, who stood behind the stern Atlantean with an almost unnatural stillness. He had wanted to meet Orm almost as much as he wanted to see his mother, ever since Vulko had revealed to him that he had a younger brother.

Curious, Arthur examined the boy – he was smaller than Arthur, slender but strong-looking, with short white hair. He was wearing the same kind of suit like Vulko did, but it was deep blue, glittering brilliantly in the bright sunlight. He looked the part of a proper prince, down to the haughty expression on his handsome face. Orm met Arthur’s eyes with cold determination, as if he was fulfilling some unpleasant and tiresome task.

“Hey,” Arthur said, forcing himself to sound unruffled and nonchalant, like he met unknown half-brothers all the time. In truth, inside he felt rather queasy, anxiousness and eagerness making his stomach lurch. Arthur had dreamed of that very moment, of finally meeting someone who was like him – well, _almost_ like him – who could share that part of Arthur that yearned for the ocean, for the wide, wild deep.

Orm raised his pointed chin, but did not say anything, nor did he make any move to step forward.

Vulko sighed. “Your mother wanted you two to meet.”

Arthur latched on to that, as he always did to any mention of his absent mother. “Why didn’t she come too?”

“She has _more important_ things to do,” Orm sneered and glanced at Vulko resentfully, “but apparently _I_ do not.”

Arthur couldn’t help but scowl, his heart sinking. Whatever wishes and hopes he had carried about kindred spirits, brothers who could become friends, were being quickly and mercilessly dashed. It was such a disappointment that Orm seemed to be a total jerk, but that was the story of Arthur’s life – no one wanted to be friends with the strange fish-boy, not, it seemed, even other fish-boys.

“You know why your mother couldn’t come – and even Orm’s presence here took quite a lot of planning to arrange. It _must_ stay secret.” Vulko’s voice was harsh, and his searing eyes settled heavily on first Arthur, then Orm, impressing upon them the absolute need for secrecy. Arthur noticed that his little brother, despite his lofty mien, wasn’t impervious to their teacher’s commanding gaze. “I’ll leave you to get to know each other in peace,” Vulko continued, thin lips turning slightly upwards. “I’m sure you’ll both behave as befits your station as the princes of Atlantis.”

“Sure,” Arthur groused surly. Orm gave a little jerky nod, eyes falling downwards as Vulko walked away, leaving them standing on the beach, facing each other.

Then the only sound was the lapping of the waves, as the water climbed onto the shore. Arthur didn’t know what to say. The whole situation felt suddenly awkward and utterly ridiculous. What could he say to a brother he had never met before and who seemed to detest Arthur’s mere presence? Ask if he wanted to go for a swim?

“You look…different than I imagined,” Orm said at last, his blue eyes lingering on Arthur’s messy hair. Arthur fought the sudden urge to try to tug his rebellious hair into order.

“You look like mom,” Arthur blurted out, having noticed the similarities between his brother and the woman, whose features Arthur had memorized down to the last detail as he had wishfully studied the picture that depicted a happy family of three.

“Yes, so I have been told.” Orm sounded pleased. “I also look like my father.”

Arthur didn’t want to hear anything about the man that had forced his mother to leave him and _his_ dad, so he hurried to steer the subject into safer waters. “Is this your first time on land?”

Orm frowned. “Hardly.” But he looked deeply uncomfortable, standing there in the wet sand, eyes darting around and taking in the surrounding landscape, as if Arthur’s question had reminded him that he really was – _ha!_ – a fish out of water.

“I can show you around,” Arthur offered, trying to sound as if he didn’t care if Orm turned him down.

“Around?” Orm looked like he had bitten into a sour lemon, the way his lips twisted and his nose wrinkled up. “With you?”

Arthur grinned wildly. “Or we could ask Vulko to chaperone us. I totally understand if it’s too frightening to walk to the top of that cliff.” He pointed in the distance, where the rocky cliffs rose from the sea, tall and proud.

“I’m not afraid,” Orm said stiffly, adding, “ _mongrel_.”

“Great!” Arthur exclaimed brightly. “Come on then – _princeling_!” He turned around and started to race towards the edge of the beach, from where the path to the top of the cliffs started. Arthur felt enormous satisfaction when his brother appeared beside him, panting slightly.

They started to climb the track, the gradual rise soon giving way to a steep, narrow slope. Arthur, sure-footed on the familiar path, kept an eye on his brother, who was following right behind him. The sapphire sky arched over them, seabirds swooping and sweeping from blue to blue.

Suddenly Orm’s foot slipped on a loose rock, and arms flailing wildly, the boy tried desperately to regain his balance. Arthur seized hold of his brother’s arm, pulling Orm to him. Heart beating madly, he gripped tightly at his little brother’s wrist, trying to keep them both on secure footing. Orm’s fingers came to circle Arthur’s wrist, his grasp almost painful.

Orm’s startled eyes met his, and Arthur said, “It’s alright – I’ve got you.”

In that brief, all too fleeting moment, as they stood nearly chest to chest, clinging to each other’s wrists, all the years they had been apart seemed to fall away, and they truly were _brothers_. Then Orm let go, breaking the spell. Arthur exhaled, heart finally settling into its normal rhythm.

The rest of the climb was uneventful; Arthur led the way, keeping a slightly slower pace than before, careful of loose rocks. As always, the view on top was well worth the effort. Side by side, they watched as the deep blue expanse spread out into the horizon, infinite.

“What’s it like, in Atlantis?” Arthur asked quietly. He felt an enormous, inexplicable yearning rushing over him like a tsunami.

“It’s…it’s _Atlantis_ ,” Orm said, like that explained it completely – and maybe it did. Perhaps it was one of those things that could not be told, but had to be seen. Like the sun’s glitter upon the waves, or the fierce, thrilling roll of the autumn storm.

“One day, I’ll come there,” Arthur swore. One day, he would see the underwater kingdom, the home of his mother and brother, with his own eyes.

“First, you have to learn how to swim.” Orm grinned, his impish smile a perfect twin of Arthur’s own.

“I _know_ how to swim,” Arthur snorted, not even a little bit offended. Orm’s snotty insults were starting to grow on him.

“I doubt it!” Orm shouted and with one smooth move jumped off the cliff. Whooping with joy, Arthur followed, diving towards the ocean with an exhilarating rush of speed.

They raced underwater, tried to lose the other in the labyrinth of seaweed and shipwrecks. Arthur chased Orm down to the seabed and up again to the surface, marvelling at his brother’s graceful and powerful movements. They weaved through swarms of fishes, rose from the waves to leap with the dolphins, laughing.

The sun was dipping below the edge of the ocean, dyeing the waves crimson, when Vulko called a halt to their games. Orm had to return to Atlantis, and Arthur had to go back to his own home. It was a stark reminder that their worlds were still separate and different, although for one afternoon there had been no boundaries or barriers between them.

In the moment of parting, Arthur smiled at Orm, throat strangely tight. His brother’s answering smile, small yet sure, did not make Arthur’s heart ache less, but somehow more.

“I’ll come back,” Orm promised quietly, just before he and Vulko vanished beneath the waves.

Arthur waited. He came back to the beach every day, peering into the distance, trying to discern human-like forms among the shapes of water. But after weeks of lonesome watch, no one had risen from the ocean to meet Arthur on the empty beach. The similarity of his wait to that of his father didn’t escape Arthur.

Then finally, Vulko appeared. Grim-faced and alone, the Atlantean’s presence dampened Arthur’s joy immediately, even before he learnt of the terrible news. Vulko’s words drowned the world Arthur had known, buried it into a cold, deep trench that knew no light.

Arthur’s mother was dead, murdered by her own people. Orm would not be coming to see Arthur, and Arthur could not go to Atlantis. The land and the sea would stay separate, and Arthur would have neither; only the lonely shore would be Arthur’s, and the solitary exploration of the vast deep.


	2. The Glittering Kingdom

It took years, but Arthur kept his word. 

Granted, he had never imagined he would enter Atlantis by sneaking in, or that he would finally meet his brother again with strong chains fastened around his wrists and neck, restrained to the throne room floor like a criminal. The huge chamber, gleaming in blinding silver, overwhelmed him momentarily – just as it was designed to do – before Arthur noticed the figures at the far end of the hall, on the raised platform. His attention was immediately drawn to the golden form of Atlantis’ king. 

“Welcome to Atlantis… _brother_.” Orm’s voice rang out clearly in the large chamber. “I can’t believe you are finally here – like you once promised. I have heard so many stories about you over the years…” He rose from the throne gracefully, floating in the water, golden armour like a fiery flame among all the silver. Orm’s tone was light, but under its surface pulsed a fierce anger – Arthur could already tell it would not be a pleasant reunion; really, the chains had been the first big hint that his little brother was _pissed_. Good – so was Arthur. 

Slowly, Orm glided towards Arthur. “All these years, I was ashamed of my mother for _defiling_ herself with a surface-dweller, shamed of the fact I have a _half-breed_ brother, whose heart I wanted to run my trident through. And now that you are finally here before me, I must admit…” 

Arthur, rage rushing his veins like a flash flood, lunged forward, pulling the chains taut and charging straight at the snot nosed, ungrateful _little fucker_ –

“…I am conflicted,” Orm finished calmly, not even flinching as Arthur came to a stop only inches away from him. 

“You want conflict, why don’t you take these chains off _little brother_ , and we’ll see who gets run through,” Arthur growled, gritting his teeth. 

Orm glanced at the floor, where Atlanna’s trident lay. “Yes, I see you brought our mother’s weapon. Is that why you have come here, after all this time, to kill me?” 

Arthur felt a twinge in his heart, regret tasting like bile. It all could have gone so differently, if only – but those wishes were waste of time. Both the land and the sea depended on him. “I came to stop a maniac from destroying the world.” 

“I see. And how do you plan to stop the atrocities the surface continues to commit?” A series of some kind of holographic images appeared around them, depicting a burning oil rig, poison barrels falling through the water, whales being pierced by harpoons. “For a century, they have polluted our waters and poisoned our children. And now the skies burn and our oceans boil.” Orm and the images circled Arthur relentlessly; the anger in his brother’s voice matching the horror of the visions Arthur himself had seen too many times before. “You have come all this way to take side _against your own people_.”

“There are no sides in a war like this,” Arthur protested, for the first time truly aware of the numerous soldiers flanking the throne room walls, bearing witness. He realized that his brother’s words were not meant solely for him. 

“You have clearly chosen a side, to come here and challenge the throne,” Orm snarled, his blue eyes burning with cold fire. Behind him, his golden cloak rippled in the water like a battle flag in the wind.

“If that’s what it takes to stop your war,” Arthur spat out. As they had been so long ago under the sapphire sky, they were now in the glittering kingdom: almost chest to chest, their attention wholly on each other, the intensity of their clashing wills such it was hard to remember that others existed. 

“Are you evoking the combat of the kings?” Orm sounded incredulous, but there was a gleeful air about him. 

“Call it whatever you want; I call it an _ass whupping_.” Arthur couldn’t wait to wipe that smug expression from Orm’s face, to dirty that gleaming golden armour, to punch some sense into him – 

“Well then, perhaps that is how we’ll proceed.” Orm’s hard gaze held Arthur captive; met strength with strength, aim with ambition. With a secret thrill, Arthur realized they were evenly matched. 

“Your Majesty!” Vulko sounded alarmed; Mera joined his protest with, “Orm, please.”

“Don’t you see,” Orm said and pushed himself away from Arthur, breaking the spell of their own private world. “If I defeat the first-born son of Atlanna in a formal challenge in front of everyone, then all the seven kingdoms will have to concede that _I_ am the one true king.”

“Your Majesty, there is no victory in defeating the ignorant. Your brother is clearly an imbecile.” Mera’s words made Arthur frown: _nice_. 

“Your Highness, he doesn’t know our ways,” Vulko tried, although it was clear nothing would deter the King of Atlantis. 

“Then he is about to get an education,” Orm countered with steely determination. He looked Arthur up and down as he came nearer, again closing the distance between them. “Are you officially challenging me?”

Arthur struggled against the chains, trying to get _closer_. “Hell yes, I challenge you, and when I win –” 

“ _If_ you win,” Orm interrupted, “I will cease all immediate action, the war is over. But if I win…” Orm’s lips twisted into a slight smile, “…you are _over_.” 

“Let’s do it,” Arthur said, a grim, humourless smile on his own lips, heart already beating in a rhythm of a war drum. 

“So be it. Challenge has been made, and I accept it.” Orm propelled himself backwards, and his eyes still on Arthur, commanded, “Prepare him for the ring of fire!” 

“Wait? The ring of what?” Arthur asked, realizing that perhaps he hadn’t completely thought through the challenge. 

The guards herded him into the ruins of an old circular stone room, where he got to choose his armour. Arthur picked the one that seemed to fit him best, but he did not take a weapon from the large pile of shields and spears and swords. He didn’t need one; he had his mother’s trident that Vulko had taught him to wield. He would win – for her.

After listening Vulko nag him about letting Orm bait him into the challenge, something Arthur was already quite aware of _thank you very much_ , Arthur was taken to the ring of fire. Which apparently was just a ring of lava circling a patch of rock. Arthur was starting to see that the Atlanteans loved their dramatics. 

And then finally, he was alone with his brother. They stood facing each other, the high walls of the small rocky chamber enclosing them. They didn’t have to perform for an audience, although Orm still spoke loftily like his whole kingdom were listening, “Out here we have a legend, of the Karathen. An ancient sea monster so powerful that King Atlan himself feared it. So he imprisoned it in the depths of the ocean. And in that abyss the creature bides it time, waiting to rise again. Atlantis has lain in wait…” Orm beat his trident against the rock, the sound of metal ringing around the small space, “…and now the beast has awakened.”

Arthur stepped closer to Orm, clanging his own weapon against the ground. He looked at the man standing before him, seeing the features of the boy he had met years ago in the pointed chin, the high cheekbones, the straight nose; the man had his little brother’s bright blue eyes. “You know, there was a time, when I wanted to see you again more than anything,” he confessed, the old pain a familiar ache in his heart. “I wanted to really get to know my little brother, to let him know that he wasn’t alone, that we were in it together.” Arthur paused, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice, the bitterness in his eyes. “If only I’d known what a _dick_ you’d turn out to be.” 

Something rippled in Orm’s gaze; the icy blue cracked. At last, the mask of a king fell away, leaving on Orm’s face a mix of grief and regret – as deep and terrible as Arthur’s – and something else Arthur couldn’t quite decipher, something almost _gentle_. “You were the reason our mother was executed, and I have hated you for it ever since,” his brother said and Arthur knew it to be true. ”But I do not want to kill you, Arthur. I am going to give you one chance: go home.” 

Then Orm’s gaze hardened, the blue strengthening to steel. “Do not _ever_ come back to Atlantis. You are _not_ going to win this. A war is coming to the surface, whether you like it or not, and I am bringing the wrath of the seven seas with me.”

“You know I can’t let that happen.” In that moment, Arthur didn’t think he had ever regretted anything more. 

“I know,” Orm said. 

And then there was nothing else to be said. There was only the press of water, the glow of fire and the furious, glorious fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the dialogue in this chapter is from the movie, so credit for that belongs to the screenwriters.


	3. The Dark Abyss

Atlanna, Queen of Atlantis and the descendant of warrior kings and queens, was sentenced to the Trench by King Orvax, in front of the most important and loyal Atlanteans; the senior advisors and generals, and the members of the court. None said a word to defend her. Orm heard all about it later, for he was not there, having been locked into his suite to prevent any unseemly and passioned interruptions on behalf of the accused. 

The wait was unbearable, and although the outcome seemed certain, he still _hoped_. Perhaps his father, who hadn’t shown mercy or leniency even once in his life, would do so now; maybe the Atlanteans would not stand for their beloved Queen to be sentenced to die; surely Orm wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – lose his mother. 

Terrified and furious, he raged like a hurricane smashing everything he came upon, beating against the walls of his room with bleeding fists, yelling abuse at the impassive guards stationed outside. That traitorous, spineless filth would be the first to die! If he only had his trident or knife or _anything_ lethal, he would fight his way out and cut their throats and safe her – 

However terrible the wait was, the end of it proved to be far worse. Orvax didn’t deem it necessary to apprise Orm of the situation himself or, perhaps more likely, he didn’t want to lose his one heir to the Trench for attempted patricide. Instead of the King of Atlantis, it was Vulko, the always dependable, _trustworthy_ Vulko, who came bearing the dreaded news. 

No mercy had been shown to the Queen: Atlanna was to be sacrificed to the Trench. 

All the rage bled out of Orm, the howling and tearing storm abated, for there was nothing to sustain it anymore. There was no hope. Orm slid down to the floor and lay there amid the wreckage of his destroyed possessions. He felt oddly detached from his body, separated from the space around him, as if he were alone in a murky water, completely without any bearings. 

He thought suddenly of Arthur and pictured him waiting for them, _waiting for Orm_ , and not knowing. How long would Arthur wait before he realized that no one would be coming? Before he understood that he had been abandoned and that Orm had broken his promise to return to visit him? 

Orm’s whole body shook involuntarily with terror – he could not go see Arthur. _He could not_. Orvax would watch him closely, ready to mete punishment for every infraction, however small or big, and there could be no bigger one than Orm meeting his half-breed half-brother. In the deepest part of himself though, Orm knew that his father’s wrath was not the main reason for Orm to break his promise to Arthur. He simply could not confess to his brother the truth; he could not tell Arthur that neither of them would never, _ever_ see their mother again. 

Cruel fates wished otherwise however, and Orm did see his mother again. He was there when the sentence was carried out, for Orvax wanted him to witness the price of disobedience, of dishonour. No doubt, his father meant it to be a _learning experience_. 

The numbness that had taken over him had not subsided. Orm stood stiff and motionless next to Vulko, not caring or wanting for the silent support the advisor was offering. Orvax probably approved that his son was showing proper demeanour at last, but it was only because Orm’s limbs were too heavy, his insides too cold for him to do anything. His eyes were fixed outside the transparent viewport; the water surrounding the Royal Warship was dark, and even darker shapes moved in it. 

Something bumped hard against the side of the vessel, making it shudder unnaturally. Grotesque beasts pressed against the viewport, all sharp teeth and cutting, monstrous limbs. The Trench had arrived for their offering. 

Orm forced his gaze away from the view and made himself look at his mother. Atlanna stood in the middle of the chamber, circled by those who had come to witness her end. She looked composed and calm, even though her face was whiter than her freely flowing hair. Orm’s eyes darted involuntarily to her feet – she was standing inside a circle etched to the floor, and soon the intricate lines underneath her would split apart, the maw yawing open by the order of the King. Then she would be sucked out of the ship, to the Trench. 

“As tradition dictates, you may say your goodbyes,” Orvax said, his voice chillingly emotionless. The King of Atlantis, who had condemned his wife to death for having a half-breed son _before_ her marriage to him, was now pretending his jealousy and rage had never even existed. Or perhaps he had already banished her from his heart as effectively as he was going to wipe her from his life. 

“Vulko.” Atlanna looked at her old teacher solemnly. “Thank you for your service and your friendship. I hope you will continue to be loyal to the crown, to Atlantis.” 

Vulko bent his head in a reverent bow. “I promise I will be, my Queen. Always.”

Orm had never hated the advisor more. Why didn’t Vulko protest against what was happening? Why couldn’t he persuade Orvax to change his mind? Why had he taken Orm to see Arthur? 

“ _Orm_.” His mother’s voice curled around his heart, and despite its gentleness it made his heart ache so fiercely that Orm trembled. “ _My son_.” It was like her words broke him free of shackles, and Orm darted quickly forward without conscious thought, latching himself in her waiting arms. He buried his head against her neck and breathed in her familiar, comforting scent. Her arms closed tightly around him, the embrace strong and absolute. 

“Mother, I’m sorry, I…I didn’t –” 

“I know,” his mother reassured, her voice quiet but firm. “Orm, this is not your fault. _None_ of this is your fault.”

“But…” He could not say more; his throat was closing up, his breath hitching. 

“It’s going to be alright, my son,” Atlanna promised and stroke Orm’s hair, the same way she had done, when he had been just a baby. “You’re going to be alright.” But Orm couldn’t see how he possibly could be. He was being swallowed up by the black abyss, he was in the dark, soon to be all alone. 

“That’s enough,” Orvax commanded. Orm stiffened, tightening his hold of his mother. 

Urgently, Atlanna bent to place a kiss to his brow, and whispered into his ear, “I love you so much, as I love your brother. I hope that one day my sons will be reunited and will rule Atlantis together. Remember what I taught you.” And then her arms were slackening and she was trying to step back, and panicking, Orm tried to hold onto her, he could _not_ let her go, but then her eyes met his and somehow, he found the strength to break loose of the desperate embrace. 

His mother’s eyes were full of sorrow, and Orm couldn’t let himself be dragged unwillingly from her arms; he would not do that to his mother. It _hurt_ , it took every inch of his willpower, but he took a step back, then another, until he was standing clear of the circle.

Atlanna gave him a brilliant smile, proud and loving. 

And so Orm had to try, one more time, although there was no hope. He turned to Orvax and pleaded, “Father, _please_.” 

Perhaps there was a flicker of remorse and pity in his father’s expression; perhaps Orm only imagined it. Nonetheless, the King’s voice held no hint of it. “Mercy is a weakness that your enemies will take full advantage of to defeat you.”

“I promise that I will be the son you want me to be, just –”

“You –” his father interrupted Orm’s desperate bargaining, “– _will_ be the son I want, regardless.” And that was it. Nothing Orm, or anyone else, could have said would have made any difference. Orvax had made up his mind, and the King of Atlantis did not change or second-guess his decisions. The King was always right. The King was the law. The King _was_ Atlantis. 

Orvax nodded to the captain of the guard, who started to recite the judgement. “Atlanna, Queen of Atlantis, daughter of King Orin…” 

Orm couldn’t listen; his own heart beat so loudly it blanketed all other sounds. He couldn’t turn his gaze away from her, for he needed that final look – it would have to last for a lifetime. The smoothness of her cheek (always resting so gently against his), the teasing curve of her smile, the glimmer in her blue eyes. Except now resignation was etched on her face, her mouth was a thin tremulous line, and her eyes looked hollow from fear. 

Death already had a hold of her. 

Orm’s thoughts turned wildly, maddeningly in circles, trying to find some reason, some _sense_ in what was happening. His mother was going to die. Nothing would stop it. It was his father’s fault and Vulko’s fault and Atlanteans’ fault and that surface-dweller’s fault and Arthur’s fault – 

If his mother hadn’t fallen in love with a surface-dweller, if his brother hadn’t been born, none of it would have happened. If his mother had just forsook his other son, she wouldn’t have been facing death. If Orm wouldn’t have gone to meet him – 

“…you are sentenced to the dark, eternal deep. May gods accept your sacrifice and grant you peace.”

Everything was Orvax’s fault and Vulko’s fault and Atlanteans’ fault and surface-dwellers’ fault and Arthur’s fault and above all, it was all Orm’s fault – 

The maw slid open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find any information on Atlanna's parents, so I decided to name her father Orin.


	4. The Ring of Fire

The crowd roared like the wrath of the seas as Orm entered the arena. The people were cheering _for him_ : they knew Orm was the one true King, willing to make the hard choices, willing to fight for his people. 

“People of Atlantis, hear me! My brother has come from the surface to challenge me for the throne!” Arthur was just the would-be-usurper, the bastard that held a claim to the throne only because of their mother’s weakness. He didn’t care about Atlantis; he knew nothing of their ways and had never even been there before that very day.

“Let’s settle this the ancient way – by bloodshed to the gods they make known their will!” The crowd bellowed in approval; bloodthirsty like sharks circling their prey. Arthur was met with a frenzied array of boos and hisses, shouts of _traitor_! For a moment, he looked overwhelmed, apprehensive, uncertain. It made Orm deeply satisfied. His brother was going to get an education indeed. 

_This_ was Atlantis. The greatest kingdom in the world, steeped in rich history, unparalleled innovation, continuous marvel. The mighty foundation laid by their great ancestors was upheld by the strength of Atlantis’ people, their devotion and service to their kingdom. From the very first beat of his heart, Orm’s life had belonged to Atlantis – Arthur didn’t even understand his life wasn’t truly his own. 

If anyone needed a reminder of Orm’s continuous service to the kingdom, the screen presenting the fighters listed all of his many accomplishments. Arthur, however, had none. He only had cons: surface dweller, half-breed, drunk. Orm watched as Arthur’s face darkened as he saw the screen. _Does the truth hurt, dear brother?_

The great octopus started to drum, the sound reverberating all around them, the very beat of the ancient kingdom’s heart. It was time to acknowledge the adversary: the brothers struck the prongs of their weapons together once, then banged the shafts against the ground. It was the moment for any last words.

Orm looked at the man before him, so different and changed from the boy he had met years ago. There were so many things he wanted to say to his brother. _Why didn’t you ever come to see me after Orvax died? Why do you defend the surface dwellers over your own people? Do you hate all of us because of what happened to our mother? Do you hate me?_ But a stranger stood before him, and Orm could not voice any of his questions, show any weakness. 

It seemed Arthur didn’t have anything to say to Orm either; he kept quiet, looking at Orm with heavy dark eyes. Years ago, those same eyes had met Orm’s with warmth and sincerity as his big brother had said, _I’ve got you_. Regret tried to dilute his resolution, but Orm pushed it purposefully away. There was no place for hesitation, remorse or mercy in the arena. Only strength prevailed. Despite many obvious shortcomings, Orvax had been a strong leader, who had kept Atlantis equally strong – and Orm had every intention of surpassing his father in every way. He would be the king Atlantis needed to survive, to thrive. 

“You have my mother’s trident, powerful but flawed like her. I field my father’s, and it has _never_ known defeat!” The time for words over, Orm leapt towards Arthur, ready to strike him down. His brother parried, and the fight was truly on.

They twisted, turned, struck. Their parents’ tridents clashed with thunder, the force of their blows felt deep in their bones. Neither held back the strength of their bodies, the violence of their attack. Arthur was a fierce fighter, something his large, trained form had insinuated at the first glance, when they had met again. Orm was pleased and thrilled to find out they were evenly matched – his victory would be that much greater. 

Arthur might have been a superior fighter on land, but water was under Orm’s dominion, and he had mastered fighting under the surface when he had still been just a boy. Nonetheless, it was clear Arthur had had some of the same training; a sudden jab of his trident forced Orm to bend backwards, the sharp point of his brother’s weapon passing only by inches from his face. He retaliated by kicking Arthur hard in the chest, shoving his brother several metres back. 

At once, they crashed into each other again and shot across the lava field, trading furious hits over the fiery inferno. Arthur took hold of Orm’s trident, his eyes reflecting the hellish glow of the Ring of Fire. They sped forward again, circling the spectators’ gallery, striking a rock wall, neither letting go of the other. Orm pressed the shaft of his weapon brutally against Arthur’s throat even as they twisted around and around, hitting another rock hard. The exhilaration of the deadly dance heightened every sense; body blooming with pain, blood rushing, heart beating frantically, Orm felt more alive than ever before. 

Still tightly locked together, they raced towards the lava, spinning. _Let us burn together_ , Orm thought madly, but Arthur was already letting go, their tridents separating, and Orm plunged alone ever nearer to the deadly sea of fire. He managed to stop his breakneck descent just in time, the heat licking his face. Furious, he stuck his trident to the lava, using it to flung a fireball at Arthur – who deflected it with his own weapon. 

Orm shot up as Arthur charged down towards him. They met in the middle, the force of their mighty collision making the whole arena tremble and gasp. Here was history made present, past awakened anew: they were the descendants of gods and monsters, two behemoths fighting to the very end. Locked together in an eternal deadly embrace, shedding the same blood, piercing the same flesh, tearing the same heart. Brother against brother. 

High above the Ring of Fire, they came to stand on the rim of a huge stone shield that the ancient warrior statue proudly carried. They traded savage blows back and forth, neither willing to give any ground to the other. But finally, it seemed that Orm’s rage was stronger, fiercer, more absolute, and with every hit he struck Arthur harder. He wanted to crush Arthur, wanted to beat him down, every punch and hit a sharing of his own anger and anguish. He wanted his brother to _feel_ the hurt. Yelling in fury, Orm knocked Arthur to the ground, and struck his trident against his brother’s, _one_ – _two_ – _three_ – _four_ times. On the fourth strike, Atlanna’s trident broke in half. 

Arthur looked at the broken weapon in his hands in disbelief, defeated. And Orm – the moment he had broken his mother’s trident, something had also shattered in him. Brittle and twisted they might have been, but the shards made him stronger at last, the broken pieces reaffirming his purpose, his way. He had finally let go of the past, of his mother’s pale, sad-eyed ghost. He had won. 

The crowd cheered as Orm glided in the water above Arthur, victorious. “ _I am_ the one, true King!”

He twirled his trident and looked down at his brother, who was still on his knees on the ground. Arthur had lost, and Orm had the strength, he had the power – he raised his weapon high to strike – 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a whirlpool of water suddenly enveloped him, taking him within its whirling vortex. Orm fell towards the red lava, his father’s weapon still gripped tightly in his hands. For one long, agonizing moment, he thought he was going to die, drown in the Ring of Fire, burnt to his very core. 

And then Orm hit the ground hard, gasping in the air pocket, painfully expelling water from his lungs. He had hardly any time to act, to think, before the waters rushed again over him, the air pocket bursting with the pressure of the sea. Once more he was left to adjust himself, to struggle to get up, to keep fighting. High above him, his people clamoured in protest, and Mera was taking Arthur away, rescuing him from the inevitable fate of his defeat. 

Orm was left shouting her name, and cursing them both, his victory robbed from him by bitter betrayal.


	5. The Empty Horizon

The dark night had already twined around the small harbour, when Arthur exited the fishermen’s dive bar. A sliver of moon, peeking from behind the cloud cover, revealed the outlines of old, dented fishing boats. Their hulls knocked rhythmically against the pier as they strained against their moorings in the heavy swell. The biting wind had picked up speed, carried a cold and wild cruelty within. The coming storm promised to be spectacular. 

“Arthur.” The familiar voice came from the sea; Arthur stiffened and wished he had stayed inside and kept drinking. 

Vulko jumped from the water to the pier, his form easily distinguishable from the rusted, everyday surroundings. Arthur stood still, debating whether to just turn around and go back to the bar, where Vulko could hardly follow him without drawing too much attention. However shit-faced the old drunks and regular loiterers were, even they would notice an odd man in skin tight suit-armour. Come to think of it, that could be quite entertaining… 

Before Arthur could make up his mind, his old teacher was standing in front of him, lips a familiar thin line, brows furrowed. 

“I thought I already passed the Royal Atlantean Fish Academy or whatever. I’m not in the mood for more lessons,” Arthur sniped. He had played the part of an exiled prince longer than needed; he was done pretending, had been years ago. 

“I have news,” Vulko said solemnly. Arthur braced himself – nothing good ever came from Atlantis.

But for once, Vulko did not bear bad tidings. “King Orvax has died,” the Atlantean said simply, like it was not a message Arthur had waited to hear, _wanted_ to hear, for so long. 

Once, Arthur would have been ecstatic to learn that the man, who had killed his mother, was dead. He had not thought it mattered whether Orvax met his fate by Arthur’s hand or someone else’s; it would have been enough to know that the hated man was gone, that Arthur could finally go to Atlantis and see his brother again. But those dreams had faded with time, with years of bitter knowledge that Orvax still ruled his golden kingdom and Arthur could do nothing about it. 

Arthur felt curiously empty. The news was too little, too late. 

Vulko was looking at him intently. “Tomorrow, Orm will be crowned king. Before that happens, you will have to come to Atlantis and make your claim.” 

“I don’t want the fucking throne!” Arthur growled, suddenly blindingly angry. 

“Your mother wanted you and your brother to rule together,” Vulko explained, sounding frustrated. Had the old man really thought that Arthur would immediately forgive and forget, leave the land behind and rule a bunch of cold-blooded bastards, if he asked nicely, _pretty please_? 

Arthur said as much, making the lines on Vulko’s face deepen. “If Orm is crowned king, it will be that much harder to establish your position later. Now is the most opportune moment to make changes in Atlantis, to revive your mother’s legacy –”

“I said I _don’t_ want it,” Arthur spat. “Orm can have the bloody crown and whatever the fuck else there is of my mother’s legacy.”

“Your mother would have wanted –”

“They killed my mother!” Arthur stepped up to Vulko, looming over the smaller man. “They _killed_ her.”

Vulko sighed, his eyes softening. “I know. I was there.” 

“I want nothing to do with Atlantis,” Arthur said, voice quieter now but as firm as before. “And they certainly don’t want anything to do with me.” 

“What about your brother?” Vulko asked, going for the jugular. “He needs you.”

As if by conjured by Vulko’s words, an image of a young boy seized Arthur’s mind. Slender but strong-limbed, short white hair shining in the sun, smiling first tentatively, later with wild abandon. Twelve years had gone by since that happy day spent chasing each other through the waves. A sudden sharp ache twisted his insides, when Arthur realized he didn’t know what Orm looked like. He was a young man now, soon to be king. What remained of the boy, who had made Arthur believe they could be something more than strangers? 

“He needs me?” Arthur repeated, hating the hopeful undertone in his own voice. 

“Orm is young and…” Vulko hesitated, clearly seeking to put his next words carefully. “It was not easy for him to grow up with Orvax as his father and king. I hoped he would remember Atlanna’s wisdom, but as time went by…in some things I fear he resembles his father too much.” 

Arthur dipped his head low, letting his long hair cover his face. He did not want Vulko to see how disappointed he was. 

“Orm needs someone to lean on, someone to trust,” Vulko continued, still stubbornly trying to change Arthur’s infinitely more obstinate mind. “You could curb his harsher impulses, counter the rigid Atlantean ways. Together, you could create a _balance_.”

“Me?” Arthur scoffed, spreading his arms wide, inviting Vulko to take a good look at him. His hair was tangled and unwashed, his clothes faded and smelling like beer and cigarette smoke. He was standing in front of a shithole of a bar, where he had gone ostensibly to drink but really hoping that someone would be stupid enough to rise to the bait and throw the first punch. The black, bottomless maw inside him wanted blood, wanted violence. He could not bring balance to anyone or anything. “The way you describe it, he needs _you_.”

Vulko shook his head, not letting up. “Orm needs _an equal_ – and there is only one of those.” 

“Yeah, shit luck for everyone that it’s me.” Arthur turned to go; he needed a drink. Scratch that, he needed _a ton_ of drinks to wipe Vulko’s words from his mind. 

“Arthur, don’t turn away from your brother.” Vulko’s quiet, serious voice halted Arthur in his tracks. “You’ll regret it later.”

Arthur closed his eyes, two warring impulses battling for dominance. He had spoken the truth to Vulko: he couldn’t care less about the crown. Arthur knew he was no king, never would be. As for Atlantis, the whole kingdom had stood by when a tyrant had condemned a supposedly beloved queen to death – Arthur didn’t particularly care what happened to them. But Orm…he was Arthur’s little brother. They had seen each other only once, but that didn’t negate the fact that there was a connection between them, Atlanna’s blood fastening them together, her love making them alike, more powerful than all the differences setting them apart. 

The moment Arthur had learnt he had a brother, he had yearned for a true brotherhood. Someone to share the ocean’s alluring and terrible call with, someone who understood what it was like to be pulled to the deep. Someone, who would join Arthur in play and schooling, grumbling with him about Vulkos’s never ending lessons, rough housing in the waves. Together they could carry the heavy burden of a thousand-year-old legacy, the unending expectations, the stifling mantle of royalty. They would be friends and confidants. Brothers. 

The ember of that old yearning still lived in Arthur, despite all his wishes never coming true, and Vulko’s words latched on to that childish longing, tugging it to the surface. Arthur couldn’t help but resent the old Atlantean for it. 

Arthur half-turned around, looked Vulko straight in the eyes. “Why didn’t my brother come then himself? If he needs me so much?”

Vulko didn’t answer; he looked as defeated as when he had told Arthur of Atlanna’s death. 

“Orm doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

In answer, Vulko’s gaze dropped to the ground. 

“That’s what I thought,” Arthur sneered and strode to the bar, not once looking back. 

Vulko did not follow him. The storm abated sometime in the early hours of the morning after ripping weaker trees from the ground and smashing small boats against the rocks. When Arthur staggered towards the lighthouse, the nipping wind had mellowed into a gentle breeze, slightly rippling the otherwise calm surface of the sea. The rising sun coloured the world with warm hues, the light hurting Arthur’s sensitive eyes, making his pounding head hurt even more. 

Before going inside the house, Arthur stopped in the yard, taking stock of himself. His shirt was torn, his knuckles bloody. He could _feel_ the huge bruise starting to bloom over half his face. Not wishing to meet his father’s disappointed but knowing eyes, Arthur was relieved that he could slip inside without Tom noticing. He knew his father wouldn’t be in the house. 

His father would be standing on the pier, looking to the horizon, waiting. Just like he had done every morning for over twenty years. Arthur knew this. He knew the ache his father carried, felt that same longing inside himself. There was a missing part, a void that yearned to be filled. But no matter how hard they both wished and waited and looked, the horizon was as empty as it had been every day since Atlanna had left them. 

It always would be.


	6. The Everlasting Song

The swells rocked the small fishing boat, lulling Arthur into a temporary feeling of tranquillity. In a way, it was the truest lullaby he had ever had; he could not remember his mother’s embrace or voice, and instead, it was the heaving of the sea, the cry of the wind, the sharp smell of the ocean, that had given him comfort as a child. 

He rested against the side of the boat, his wounds – although almost healed – still stinging, a testament of how destructive the pirate’s weapon had been. After their little heart-to-heart, Mera had continued to play her flute, the enchanting melody steering the boat smoothly forward. The song curled around Arthur’s heart, a melancholy note of old memories and lost love. Letting himself finally relax a bit with the gentle sway of the boat, Arthur closed his eyes. There was no hurry yet to fling themselves at the next danger, for it was some ways still to the Kingdom of the Trench. 

Arthur breathed deep, taking in the salty sea air. It seemed like he had held his breath since the Ring of Fire, like his heart had only just settled from its mad rush, his blood no longer burning with the urge to fight. First there had been the fierce and violent contest in the arena, the crushing defeat. His mother’s trident in pieces, Arthur loosing, _lost_. Then the sudden sharp terror as Arthur had watched Orm fall towards the lava, both of them equally stunned. Mera’s surprising appearance, rescuing Arthur from certain death. The nauseating flight in Mera’s little craft, the desperate escape. For an endless moment, meeting his brother’s eyes, knowing it was inevitable that one of the sons of Atlanna had to die. 

During all of the madness, too many conflicting feelings had battered Arthur relentlessly. He had ruthlessly suppressed the chorus of discordant emotions, his focus firmly on the only task that mattered: keeping himself and Mera alive. His one moment of inattention had almost cost them their lives in Sicily, and so even in moments of respite Arthur felt he could hardly rest. Despite his flippant words and all the bickering with Mera, he had been constantly on guard, all too aware of the fury of the King of Atlantis. Orm would hunt them both to the ends of the sea _and_ earth – Arthur knew it deep in his bones.

Even in the middle of the Sahara, above the seemingly endless sand ocean, Orm had been present in Mera’s sad gaze, her bitter words. The heavy burden of obligation seemed to still drag her down, although she had made her choice. A choice that was final, unchangeable – for the first time Arthur had truly understood what she stood to lose for helping him, for going against the King of Atlantis. He could have kicked himself: hadn’t he already learned years ago how Atlantis dealt with rebelling royal women? 

Arthur opened his eyes slightly, studying the young woman still playing the gentle tune. Getting to know her, realizing her sacrifice, made him admire and like her even more than before. There was unspoken attraction between them, had been from the beginning, but it was the developing, tentative friendship he valued most and hoped would continue to grow. Mera was smart, beautiful, feisty, compassionate and brave – in other words, she was way above his league, even as just a friend.

Like the song, her words continued to struck a chord in him. _Sometimes, you have to do what’s right, even if your heart aches against it._

Arthur’s actions might sometimes – alright, _most_ of the times – look like a mix of knee-jerk reactions and stupid bravado, but he had in fact debated the rights and wrongs of deposing his despot of a brother from the throne. It was comforting to realize, that his heart was not the only one protesting against their current path, however just the right direction was from the wrong. 

Mera had claimed that Arthur was the bridge between the land and the sea, but Arthur had always felt like a wedge, a complication, a mistake. Mera’s belief in him was humbling, but Arthur was afraid that belief would soon prove to be misplaced, if not deadly.

Because in all likelihood, choosing the _right_ would probably end up costing their lives. Arthur was no king, no leader – that had been apparent to everyone long ago. He had done nothing but gotten his ass kicked from the moment he had entered Atlantis. Orm had the might of the whole kingdom; they only had an old legend and a heading towards a nest of monsters. 

As ink-black clouds gathered above them, the howling wind pulling and tugging their boat through dark, angry waters, Arthur readied himself for the next battle. Despite the odds, he would always fight. He would _never_ take anything laying down. Soon stinging rain was pelting them and their small vessel, which still valiantly struggled in the embrace of the crushing waves. They peered through the impenetrable curtain of water and dark, their instincts telling they were already surrounded. There were voices in the wind – growling, gnashing, shrieking voices. 

And then they were being swarmed, attacked, overwhelmed, and their only escape was to dive into the deep black of the Trench. It was one of the most unsettling, horrifying experiences Arthur had ever had: going ever deeper, the monsters swirling around them, reaching from the darkness, from behind the blood-red glow of the torch. Deeper and deeper, and then through the underwater whirlpool of lightning and tornado. Mera being ripped from him. 

The first moments in the lost world – his frantic search for Mera, running to the beach – were just a blur, an insignificant detail to what came next. A face from the past. Memory made present. A voice that he had not remembered, but which was suddenly so clear, so recognizable, saying his name. 

_She_ was saying his name, smiling. 

“Mom?” Arthur could not believe it. How could she be there, alive? 

Gently, so carefully, Arthur’s mother put her hands against his cheeks, cupping his face in her palms. Her eyes were intense, the blue of them dragging Arthur within. He was drowning. He still could not believe. 

She took him into her arms, hugging him fiercely. He could do nothing else but to hold on equally desperately. His big frame dwarfed hers, but she was the one keeping him upright, strong and alive and finally there with him. 

Arthur didn’t know how long they held each other, but eventually the pressing present reasserted itself: Mera was injured and needed care. Reluctantly, Arthur let his arms slacken around her, irrationally afraid. What if she disappeared? If all of it was just a dream, an elaborate hallucination? 

But Atlanna did not vanish, and Arthur kept his eyes on her as she led them to her sanctuary and explained what had happened to her. All that time, when they had believed her dead, Arthur’s mother had been in the hidden world, _alone_. 

She turned to him, her lovely face contorted by distress. “You must forgive me. Forgive me for everything.”

There was nothing to forgive. Arthur had always known the real culprit, and her teary gaze made him confess, “This happened because you had me.”

“Not for having you. None of this is your fault,” his mother hurried to assure, touching his face again, as if she too could not believe he was really there. “I made a choice. I had to leave…to save you, to save your father. Tell me. Tell me about him. Is he…”

“He still walks to the end of that dock. Every morning. Every day. Waiting for you. Why didn’t you ever come back?” The question echoed with all the anguish of a young boy, waiting, wishing for his mom.

Atlanna’s tear-stained face hardened. “Because the portal that brought you here won’t let us return. The trident is the only way back. But it is guarded by the Karathen. The creature from our legends, it’s real. It lies beyond the waterfall.”

Arthur turned to watch the silvery cascade of water that hid the monstrous legend. 

“We’ll go with you. We can fight it together,” Mera declared instantly, her courage steadfast. 

“No. It’s too powerful. I’ve tried many times over the years. The creature will only allow the true king to pass.” Atlanna looked at Arthur, eyes perceptive. “You’re afraid.”

“Yes,” he admitted willingly. His mother deserved to know that Arthur was not – could not be – 

Atlanna nodded, oddly satisfied. “Good. You’re ready.”

Three simple words, but they undid all of his denials and doubts and resentments. He would never be the king Atlantis wanted and expected, would perhaps never sit on the throne, and yet he had to be a king. 

As if hearing his inner debate, Mera said, “Atlantis has always had a king. Now, it needs something more.”

“But what could be greater than a king?” He wondered, not understanding. 

But it seemed his mother did, for she explained proudly, “A hero. A king fights only for his nation. _You_ fight for _everyone_.” 

It sounded right. Not a king, but a defender.

He would get the trident. He would do it for his mother, who had already spent twenty years alone, and for Mera who had put all her faith in him although he had given nothing in return. He would do it for his father, who was still waiting with undimmed hope, for the surface-world, whose people didn’t deserve Orm’s wrath. And even for Atlantis, who didn’t know any better and was being coaxed into needless war. And yes, he would do it for himself; he would prove himself worthy of his mother’s belief in him. 

For she was there, with him, and so nothing was impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue in this chapter is from the movie, so credit for that goes to the screenwriters.


	7. The Truth in the Twilight

Orm was not rash, nor was he reckless. Yet he could be accused of being both, as he slipped past his own retinue of royal guards and headed for land in secret. 

Persistent rumours, combined with the latest reports of his intelligence unit, gave him a heading, and with the aid of his small craft Orm reached the island nation well ahead of sundown. He hid his transport on the ocean floor, leagues away from the coast, opting to swim the rest of the way. 

The journey was too swift; Orm halted as he met the rocks rising from the seabed, arching to form a remote shore. He let himself drift to the bottom, to a large mound surrounded by a gently swaying carpet of dark green seaweed. He sat down amid tiny silvery fishes, trying to wrestle his anxious thoughts under control, slow down his restlessly beating heart. 

He knew he should turn back. He knew he should return to Atlantis. And yet – he could do neither. Not before he had seen his brother. 

What Orm thought to accomplish by seeing Arthur, he could not really say; merely that he felt deeply that he _should_. He should see the man with his own eyes, form an image out of reality instead of uncertain hearsay or an old memory. He should know for certain where they stood in relation to each other, if there was something else than half-shared blood between them. Only then would the way forward be clear, clean from the muck of doubt. 

And yet…he was hesitant to go on any further.

It was a novelty to be truly alone, only the various sea creatures for company. Alone and free of the judging gazes of his advisors, the gleeful whispers of his courtiers, the contradictory demands of his subjects. He only had to suffer his own cutting thoughts – granted, that made it not so very big a reprieve from the everyday cacophony of resistance and objection, but it was something at least. It was silent; he could hear the distant song of Humpback whales. 

What could Orm even say to a brother he had seen only once many years ago? When they had met, they had both been just boys, and now they were men. Between them lay so many obstacles it was disheartening; the bottomless chasm of their mother’s death only the biggest and the deadliest of the lot. There was also the not so small matter of the crown, the future of the underwater world and its people. Year by year the surface-world encroached deeper into the ocean, exploiting anything they could get their grubby hands on. Atlantis badly needed a defender.

The press of responsibility was a familiar weight; Orm savoured the ache deep in his bones. He was the King. The King was the law. The King was Atlantis. People died and lived by his word. It was a heavy, heady burden. Not for the first time he wondered if he was truly worthy of it – if anyone really was, in the end. 

Orm concentrated on the whale song, letting it settle his mind. He had come all that way; he had to see it through. He knew who he was. Now he just had to find out who his brother had become. 

Not willing to dilly-dally any longer, Orm headed straight for the shore. He surfaced in the shadow of a large rusted fishing boat, barely feeling the coldness in the air. The dark rocks rose jagged around the bay, and further behind them the mountains slumbered under a coat of white snow. The small fishing village looked abandoned; empty fish barrels lay forgotten around houses, and everywhere overgrown weeds grew among stones. The most dilapidated buildings were nothing more than shacks in danger of immediate collapse, and even the better ones had at least their paint peeling off and eaves hanging down. 

Orm frowned; the place was repulsive. The surface-dwellers clearly had no pride, nor strength of character, for them to be living like thus – even the poorest Atlanteans took better care of their own dwellings. Why his brother had chosen to inhabit the derelict, half-dead village was a complete mystery. 

Carefully, senses tuned for any movement or sound, he swam in the bay. Staying hidden as much as he could, Orm observed the village, hoping he wouldn’t have to leave the water any time soon. He didn’t worry about being taken by surprise or bested in a fight, but he also wasn’t in the habit of taking unnecessary risks. 

Soon it became apparent that there was one building at the edge of the village where human life seemed to be congregated; flickering light shone through dirty windowpanes and a lull in the howling wind revealed human voices, shouting and laughing. It seemed a safe bet, so Orm settled against the breakwater and waited. 

And waited. 

As the sky darkened and twilight fell upon the land, people started to leave the building in groups of twos and threes, most of them in good spirits, some of them even breaking into a hideously off-key song. Finally, when it seemed that all the villagers had already left and the place was empty, a man emerged. A tall man with wild eyes and messy long hair. Even without the vague descriptions he had been given, Orm would have known instantly who he was, even though the man didn’t resemble at all the boy Orm had met at the beach all those years ago. 

_Arthur_. Atlanna’s firstborn. Her favourite. 

In a strange way, Arthur was nothing Orm had expected, and yet he was also everything Orm had anticipated. Arthur was painfully human, although his large frame hinted at the strength and endurance of Atlanteans. With dark hair and beard, tattoos covering his bare arms, his surface-dweller blood was obvious, masking Atlanna’s proud heritage. 

Orm’s half-brother swung a bottle leisurely in his hand, and shamelessly took a long drink from it at regular intervals, his head tipping back, exposing the dark lines inked around his neck. Arthur’s gait was anything but steady as he staggered mulishly along the stony path and headed outward from the village towards the mountains. Once, he struck his boot against a particularly sharp rock; the litany of profanity that followed would have perhaps been more suitable in relation to some more serious calamity. Orm wondered how much Arthur had drunk to appear so intoxicated. 

It seemed inconceivable that Orm shared any blood with the man reeling up the path, slowly vanishing into the twilight. The man he was watching had obviously given up: it appeared that the rumours of Arthur wanting nothing to do with their mother’s legacy, with Atlantis, with _Orm_ , were all true. Arthur had forsaken everything, even his dignity. It was perfectly clear they had nothing in common. Perhaps there never had been anything between them; the golden afternoon on the cliffs, the happy play in the water, was a false memory, a mirage conjured by wishful thinking. 

Having seen enough, Orm turned away and slid soundlessly under the surface. Only now, when he knew it was no longer possible, did he recognise his own secret wish of a reunion, of a partnership – of a brotherhood. It made him burn with shame. He should have known better. His half-brother was only a half-breed mongrel, raised on the surface by a lowly surface-dweller. It was futile to yearn for something impossible, and demeaning to wish for something so unworthy. 

It had been folly to leave Atlantis, to come to the village. Seeking Arthur out had been just a ridiculous boyhood fantasy, one that Orm should have abandoned long ago with other childish dreams. Arthur had had ample time to come to Atlantis after Orvax’s death; that he had not, should have been enough to tell Orm the truth about his half-brother. And yet, Orm had wanted to see. 

_And now I have_ , he thought bitterly. _I see what you are. And I know what I am._

He headed for home with renewed determination. 

Orm sped through the ocean towards his hidden craft, the pressure of water a welcome sensation after crude air. A swarm of mackerels darted out of his way, moving smoothly as one. A large Humpback male swam peacefully beneath the surface, giving him a curious once-over. Orm touched the whale’s knobbly head gently as a hello, thanking him for the song. 

The underwater world, which was dark and inhospitable to surface-dwellers, was a wondrous landscape of teeming, glowing life. Its secrets were for Atlantis to keep; its vitality for Atlantis to defend. Orm intended to do just that: he would stop the poisoners, the exploiters, the killers. He would show all the doubters and naysayers and opponents that he was worthy of the crown. He would prove he was the king that Atlantis needed and deserved. For one thing was crystal clear: his half-brother was neither.


End file.
